


T is for Tambourine

by vipjuly



Series: ZYX's [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Dean's Daisy Dukes, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Musician Castiel (Supernatural), Semi-Public Sex, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 16:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18694816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Dean doesn’t do music festivals.He doesn’t do glitter and dancing and drugs and glowsticks, he doesn’t do campy and culturally appropriating costumes, he doesn’t do three-day long fuck fests of strangers gathering in one place and getting up close and personal with each other with the aid of whatever psychedelic they mixed into their drinks. He doesn’t do deserts, he doesn’t do hot, and he justdoesn’t do music festivals.The only live act on stage in the middle of the woods features the hottest guy Dean's ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes on. Maybe, on second thought, music festivals aren't so bad.





	T is for Tambourine

**Author's Note:**

> there is literally no rhyme or reason to the titles of any of these fics, i'm honestly trying to pick the weirdest words to see if i can actually do anything with them  
> although, to be honest, i did have a solid three paragraphs for 'tyrannosaurus rex', so...

Dean doesn’t do music festivals. 

He doesn’t do glitter and dancing and drugs and glowsticks, he doesn’t do campy and culturally appropriating costumes, he doesn’t do three-day long fuck fests of strangers gathering in one place and getting up close and personal with each other with the aid of whatever psychedelic they mixed into their drinks. He doesn’t do deserts, he doesn’t do hot, and he just _doesn’t do music festivals_. 

So Charlie had compromised, and they’re somewhere not far out of their hometown. It’s a gathering in a clearing in the woods, the stage looking more like an upgraded public theater for shitty reenactments of Shakespeare by ten year old kids, there’s lots of trees and flowers and restrooms that don’t look like they carry any kind of hepatitis. It’s local, it’s clean, and it’s actually not that bad.

Don’t catch Dean even _thinking_ it’s not bad, though. When he and Charlie arrive the people throwing the event are still setting up the stage and it looks pretty underwhelming. But the beverage tent is set up, and people are already claiming lawn chair spots, a few sun shades popping up as well. _If_ Dean were to ever pleasantly enjoy a music festival, this would be more his speed. 

There are people dressed up here, and Dean is quietly impressed by the lack of headdresses and turquoise beads. There’s still scant amount of clothing on pretty much anyone, because in the woods it’s still pretty hot in the summer, but Dean doesn’t immediately feel like he’s gonna be sick or punch someone, which is totally a win. He himself allowed Charlie to talk him into a pair of shorts (and what a sorry excuse of clothing they are, they’re basically daisy dukes and Charlie had gotten _that look_ in her eye that let Dean know he wasn’t gonna get out of it) and he’s wearing a red flannel, unbuttoned, no undershirt, and cowboy boots. Alright, he looks like a poster child for a butch gay man attending a music festival (minus the glitter, he definitely threatened Charlie’s hard drive over that), but he’s comfortable, and nobody’s eyes are feasting on him so he thinks he’ll be ok. 

Charlie is wearing a bright yellow bikini with unzipped denim shirts, a green flannel over everything, her worn Chucks bright neon green and looking a little worse for wear. Her fiery red hair is pulled up into the highest ponytail Dean’s ever seen, the tendrils curled prettily, some jewels stuck to the strands that catch the sun whenever her hair bounces. 

Together they’re hauling a cooler that requires both of their hands, lawn chairs and backpacks slung over their backs. There’s an option to stay at a nearby motel but Charlie had begged Dean to stay at the festival, and he’d caved and dug out his two-man pup tent so long as Charlie brought two sleeping bags. They’ll probably end up zipping them together in the chilly night but Dean’s gotta save face, ok? It’s not like he’s _excited_ to be out here. 

The festival isn’t set to start until six, and until then, Dean and Charlie set up the their humble abode. The pup tent goes up easily, their lawn chairs perched in front of it, the cooler on the side of the tent that will stay mostly shaded as the sun treks through the sky. Charlie’s on her phone taking snapchats or instagrams or whatever, Dean studiously ignoring her as he perches his raybans on his face and settles in his chair, tipping his head back and soaking up the sun. His skin smells like coconut and hibiscus thanks to the sunscreen that Charlie brought, and he knows by the end of the weekend he’s going to have so many freckles he’ll look two shades darker. He’s ok with that. It’ll fade, and it’s only June. Plenty more of the summer left to continue sunbathing. 

Charlie’s hand smacking against his chest jolts him from his relaxation. Cursing and sitting up, Dean glares at her, only to find her attention fixed on the stage.

“Holy shit, so they’re gonna have a DJ _and_ live performers!” she exclaims.

“Isn’t how these usually go?” Dean grunts, settling back in his chair. He’s gonna have a handprint over his right pec. 

“This is pretty small time, so I thought it’d be one or the other, y’know? Just some guy, like a radio DJ or something. Kind of like a club but outside.” 

“Wouldn’t be worth the money we spent on the tickets.” 

Charlie scoffs, “Coachella is _way_ more expensive.” 

“And way more overrated,” Dean supplies.

“Besides, the guy who funds it is anti-gay, so no way in hell would I ever go there!” 

Dean stifles a yawn behind his hand. “Kinda ironic, innit?”

“Irony of the worst kind, my friend.” 

“Time is it?” Dean asks, idly scratching by his bellybutton. 

“Five-thirty,” Charlie says. “Wanna do some shots?”

Head still tipped back, sunglasses still on his face, sun shining on his face, Dean smiles and says, “There’s a reason you’re my best friend.”

\--

Four shots and a bottle of water later (it’s hot, ok?) Dean is only mildly buzzed as a man clambers up on the now-complete stage to grab a mic and start addressing the crowd. It’s pretty tame for now, the man announcing who will be performing tonight, where all the restrooms and drink tents are, a note from their sponsors, yadda yadda. 

Tonight is a DJ, and Charlie is up and out of her seat nearly the moment he starts spinning. Dean cracks open a beer and watches as Charlie flounces around, dancing to her heart’s content, looking as carefree as the rest of the people rocking out around them. Dean can appreciate this part of a festival, though; the pure release of energy, of dancing to music that fills you so full you can’t do anything _but_ feel it. He stays in his chair but he taps his feet, bobbing his head, content with watching Charlie dance with their tent neighbors and sing the lyrics of nearly every song that comes on.

The festivities last until one a.m., and Charlie’s barely taken a break. She’s talking to a beautiful brunette when the DJ announces that it’s bed time, and Dean is surprised but not mad when he also announces that through the whole night some ‘soft sounds’ will be playing to help people fall asleep. Some yoga bullshit or another, diurnal what the fucks, but as Dean and Charlie clamber into the tent, he can dig it. They do end up zipping their sleeping bags together after changing into their sleep clothes, Charlie curling up small against Dean’s chest as he wraps his arms around her protectively. She’s exhausted and falls asleep nearly immediately, and Dean thinks that there could be worse ways to spend the weekend.

\--

The next morning tent city is awakened by slightly more upbeat music, though it’s still not turned up too loud. There’s the smell of bacon in the air and idle chatter all around, and the tent is already getting stuffy from the morning sun beating on it. He and Charlie have split up during the night, heat clammy on their skin, and they both wake up with yawns and stretches. Their stomachs grumble and Dean dresses in his shorts again, stuffing his feet into cowboy boots and throwing on a woman’s threadbare AC/DC tank top. Charlie dresses in her bikini ensemble again, buttoning up her flannel, and they trek to the bathrooms together to freshen up for the day. Teeth brushed and bodies considerably more awake, they head back to the tent so Dean can pull out his portable grill and start in on breakfast.

This is also something he can appreciate about this small time festival. Nearly everyone is cooking their own food on some sort of grill, and if people hadn’t thought to bring their own, neighbors are more than willing to share. Dean had actually packed more food than alcohol for once in his life, and he’s more than happy to feed their neighbor from last night, Gilda, who sits down on the grass next to Charlie, whose attention gets snagged as she starts braiding her long brown hair. 

After breakfast the music turns up considerably. The announcer comes back on stage to introduce the next DJ, and then the party picks up. Before being here the thought of going all day had exhausted Dean before he even agreed to go, but halfway through the afternoon he’s out of his chair and dancing with Charlie and Gilda, enjoying the way the bass thrums through his body and the eight-oh-eights crackle through the air. There’s lots of people making their way through tent city, dancing along to the songs, making friends with strangers. Drinks and food gets passed around and Dean isn’t so extroverted that he’d be able to dance around the entire meadow and make friends like these people, but he happily greets everyone who passes by their site. Men, women, old, young, nearly naked, fully clothed - but everyone is wearing a smile, and Dean can’t recall if he’s ever been to an event of this size where literally zero fights have broken out. There’s something magical in this forest, helping people’s spirits stay high, hands and words friendly as the night goes on. 

Dean’s flipping burgers on the grill when the announcer introduces the only live band in the festival, and he whistles in support when they clamber on stage. A keyboardist, guitarist, bassist, drummer, singer, and… holy smokes, the guy holding the tambourine, even Dean can see from a distance how smoking hot he is. 

Checking the burgers to make sure they won’t burn, Dean takes his sunglasses off so he can see properly. Their site is about fifty yards from the stage so it’s not impossible to make out details, but it’s not exactly an HD picture. The singer, a blonde girl who looks like she’s got a mean right hook, introduces the band, but Dean misses the name because tambourine guy pulls off his tank top, the glitter splashed over his body visible from the fucking moon. 

His dark hair is wild and messy, glitter reflecting off of the strands. He puts on a pair of sunglasses, the square frames complementing his straight nose and chiseled jaw, dark with what’s probably stubble. His skin is tan under the rainbow glitter, his nipples dark, his abs and hips cut, and he’s wearing skinny jeans but Dean stares at his thighs and is caught between wanting to touch them and wanting them to snap his neck. Probably both. Preferably at the same time.

“Hey- it’s Jo!” Charlie says excitedly. “I didn’t know her band was headlining!” 

Dean vaguely places that name as the bartender at the dive Dean and Charlie like to frequent. She looks a lot different with her hair curled and less clothing, but now that Charlie’s said it, Dean recognizes her. He recognizes the other bartender, Ash, his mullet giving him away as he sits down on the drums. Dean doesn’t recognize anyone else, Jo the only girl, and when the music starts up he can’t help but let his eyes wander back to tambourine dude.

The song isn’t at a crazy pace, probably to warm them up. Tambourine guy is shaking the tambourine and smacking it gently against the palm of his hand, basically lazy in his actions, his upper body swaying slightly with the beat of the song. It’s impossible to tell where he’s looking while he’s got his sunglasses on, but his attention seems to wander from his own band, likely making sure he’s still on beat, to out in the crowd, where he flashes a reserved, but dazzling smile to the throbbing masses. 

“Dean, uh… you don’t like your burgers well done.”

“Shit,” Dean curses and turns back to his grill, turning off the gas and scrambling to put the patties on a waiting paper plate. Charlie just laughs while he puts the buns on the still-hot grill, his jaw tense and his heart jackhammering. 

Gilda doesn’t talk much, but she’s sweet and Charlie is, in turn, sweet on her, so Dean lets them stay in their little bubble as they eat while he chomps into his own burger. The second song starts up and it’s considerably more upbeat than the first, and the band comes alive. Jo removes the mic from the stand and starts moving around the stage, careful not to over exert herself while she sings, but tambourine guy is now all over the place. He’s not a very good dancer, which is shocking considering he’s gotta hold a beat to be able to play a freaking instrument, but he _feels_ the music, so obviously and fully, that Dean finds himself smiling as he watches. The guy’s tambourine is perfectly on tempo but his body is slightly offbeat, and when Dean licks the grease from his fingers he feels Charlie’s eyes on him.

“YooOooOoOoOoou should move to the front of the crowd!” Charlie declares.

Gilda is clearing up the trash, a small, secretive smile on her features as she dutifully stays out of the impending argument. 

“Why would I do that?” Dean asks, immediately going gruff and grabbing a beer. 

“Um, because you’ve got your love gun aimed directly at Castiel?” 

“Castiel?” Dean asks, nose scrunching.

Charlie laughs. “The guy with the tambourine. You don’t recognize him?”

Squinting and frowning, Dean racks his brain trying to place the half naked glittery man anywhere in his personal life. “No.” 

“I guess you only met once,” Charlie says thoughtfully. “Actually, you were drunk, so I’m not surprised. You chatted him up at the bar and then spilled his beer.”

“Oh my God,” Dean says, mortification sinking in. He doesn’t remember Castiel specifically, but he remembers Charlie making fun of him for a whole damn week. 

“Yeah,” Charlie has the gall to laugh directly in his face, “it was super cute, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you _fumble_ in front of someone before. You thought he was super hot.” 

“Fuck,” Dean chugs half his beer.

“Hey,” Charlie nudges him with her elbow, still grinning. “You know why you two didn’t go home together that night?” 

Dean glowers, pulling the bottle away from his lips for a moment so he can take a huge gulp of air through his mouth, before he sets about chugging the rest of his beer.

“You were so sloshed, he came and got me and said,” she pitches her voice ridiculously low, “‘your friend is very drunk. I believe he wants to have sex, but I won’t take advantage of him’. And then he gave me his number and helped me dump you into my car!” She crows with laughter, which dies suddenly. “Oh my God.” She turns wide eyes to Dean, whose own right eye is twitching in annoyance. “I… never gave you his number.” 

“Gee, Charles. Ya think?” Dean asks, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice.

Charlie, bless her fucking soul, is hardly offended when she pushes his shoulder. “Now is the _perfect_ time to go up there, then! This is better than a missed connection ad on craigslist”

“A what?” Dean asks dumbly.

Charlie takes his empty beer and tosses it before laughing, putting both her hands on Dean’s shoulder blades and pushing him forward through tent city. “Oh my God, we are _so_ doing this.” 

Gilda follows, graceful as a floating angel. Dean sends a worried glance back to their tent but there hasn’t been any reports of theft or vandalism yet this weekend, so he figures it’ll be fine for a little bit. Eventually he shrugs away from Charlie’s hands and walks himself up to the stage, girls in tow. The first fifty feet or so in front of the stage are a huge pit of dancing people, but it’s not a mosh pit, so Dean allows himself to get sucked in. He feels hungry eyes on him, _definitely_ feels hands on him as he starts to feel the music. Charlie and Gilda are wrapped up in each other, bouncing and dancing and laughing and being generally cute, so Dean turns up towards the stage, where he can now see tambourine guy clearly.

“Holy shit.” 

Up close, Dean can easily see why he’d made an idiot of himself at the bar. If the guy was hot from a distance, being even fifty feet away from him has Dean half hard in his daisy dukes. The music is still thrumming, Jo’s voice still perfectly pitched as it sails over the crowd, and tambourine guy now has a full smile on his face, pretty pink lips parted to show his perfectly white teeth and holy fuck. Ho- _oly_ fuck. 

Before he realizes what he’s doing Dean dances his way up towards the front of the crowd, not shying away from wandering hands and gropes. He doesn’t have a drink in his hand, which is usual way of dodging people, but fuck it. This weekend is about letting loose, right? Besides, he’s having fun without being wasted, and it’s kinda novel. Great, even. So guys and girls alike grind against him and it takes him for-fucking-ever to get up to the front of the crowd, lots of fingers dipping into his pockets, groping his ass, nails scratching along his collarbones, fingers carding through his hair. 

He gets lost for a moment with a hot brunette that’s a little on the handsy side, and he laughs when another guy approaches and sandwiches her between them. It’s easy to grind with them, the guy’s hands reaching around the girl to grip at Dean’s shoulders, and while Dean is glad that everyone seems to be on board with everything, the masculine touch reminds him of why he’s up here in the first place. He presses a kiss to the woman’s forehead and winks at the guy before pulling away, turning his face up towards the stage. 

Castiel is looking down at him, eyes hidden by the raybans, but the intensity of them hitting Dean like gamma rays anyway. He’s still hitting the tambourine, but his body has slowed in its hilari-bad dancing, and the smirk that filters over Castiel’s lips is way different than the smile he’s been wearing for the past five or so songs. He shifts and squats, flat footed on bare feet, and there’s no barrier between the crowd and the stage so when he beckons Dean forward he goes, resting his elbows on the ledge and peering up at the man with what he hopes is a cocky smirk.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Dean says, hopefully loud enough to be heard. 

Castiel hits and shakes the tambourine against his left thigh as he lifts his right hand to pull his sunglasses down to the edge of his nose. His eyes are the prettiest shade of blue Dean thinks he’s ever seen, the glitter in his hair bringing out the way they sparkle, and the intensity of them ramps up infinitely, heat flashing through Dean’s body. 

“I didn’t think you would remember me,” Castiel says. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, his voice.

“I didn’t,” Dean admits, shrugging. “Charlie jogged my memory.”

Castiel’s gaze sweeps over Dean’s features and over his body appraisingly, before that smile splits his features again. “You’re just as pretty as I remember.” 

Scoffing to (hopefully) cover up his blush, Dean rolls his eyes and presses forward a bit more. Their faces are half a foot apart, Castiel still tapping the tambourine against his thigh like it’s muscle memory and instinct. 

“Charlie didn’t give me your number,” Dean says. 

Castiel’s smile mutes to a smirk that Dean feels in his toes. “I’m glad to know you’re still interested.” 

“Very,” Dean finds himself saying. 

“Set’s over in twenty,” Castiel says, starting to straighten from his crouch. He clearly doesn’t miss the way Dean’s eyes glue to his strong thighs. 

“Right,” Dean says, licking his lips. 

Castiel sends him a wink and then begins to move his body in that awkward, silly excuse of a dance he’s got, his attention on Jo as he dances towards her. Dean takes that as his cue to leave and he starts to make his way back through the crowd, dancing along with the beat but gracefully declining invitations as he passes. He makes his way back to the tent to check it over and, finding everything exactly where he left it, grabs another beer. He stares at it for a second and swaps it out for a water bottle; he’s nowhere near even buzzed, but his mouth is already dry just from talking to Castiel. 

Ten minutes later Gilda and Charlie make their way back, flushed and smiling and looking like they’re about to float off into the night sky, and Charlie smacks Dean’s shoulder and whoops.

“Saw you talking to Castiel!” she yells, the volume of her voice still elevated from being so close to the speakers for so long. 

“Yeah,” Dean grins, “gonna meet him when the set is over.” 

Charlie waggles her brows. “Ooooohohhhhhh?” 

“Keep it down, Bradbury,” Dean says with a roll of his eyes, but his smile betrays his words. 

Jo announces the last song, and Dean finishes his water before heading off to the bathrooms. He takes care of business, washes his hands, and then heads towards the side of the stage where the stairs are so he can try to wait without looking lurky. Castiel is still dancing, this last song by far their most fast-paced, and he’s engaging the crowd as much as Jo is. Dean never thought a tambourine shaker could be so enthusiastic, but Castiel pulls it off well, and the crowd eats it up. Idly, Dean hopes that this show helps put Jo’s band on the map and that they’ll be booked for lots of shows this summer. There’s no way they’re going unnoticed. The crowd loves them, and they’re weird enough to be memorable. The song finishes with a grand finale and some fireworks, the crowds reaction raucous and worthy of an arena. Benefits of being the only live band at a festival, Dean supposes. 

The band breaks down and filter off stage one by one, Jo and Ash greeting Dean with sly smiles and winks. Dean doesn’t recognize anyone else, but since Jo and Ash had recognized him, the other members nod their heads politely in greeting at him. Finally, Castiel hops down the steps, light on his feet, and even though he’s sweating he’s lost none of the glitter spackled all over his body. 

“Heya Cas,” Dean greets once Castiel is close enough. His tambourine is clipped to his back belt loop, jingling with every step.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel returns the greeting, reaching out with no preamble, his fingers sliding through the short hairs on the back of Dean’s head to tug him forward until their foreheads touch, Castiel out of breath from his performance and crowding into his space. “I saw this shirt on a mannequin at Forever21.”

“Girls get the best band shirts,” Dean says by way of explanation, all rational thought fizzling out of existence with Castiel’s closeness.

“Mmmh,” Castiel starts backing Dean up, heedless of onlookers as they make their way towards the treeline. “I like it.” 

Pleased that Castiel isn’t making fun of him for wearing women’s clothing, Dean lets out a whuff of breath when he gets backed into a tree, the bark scraping over his sun-kissed skin almost too roughly. Castiel pulls away from him slightly and Dean’s gaze finally focuses, registering that they’re quite a ways off from the festival in the safety and privacy of the treets. Castiel slots a knee between Dean’s thighs, wasting no time in pressing upwards and eliciting a deep, needy groan directly from Dean’s chest. 

“You’re not drunk,” Castiel observes.

Dean shakes his head, reaching his hands up to grip at Castiel’s bare shoulders, fingers slipping over sweaty, sparkly skin. 

“Good.” 

That’s all Dean gets before Castiel is swooping in and claiming his mouth. It’s electric, and right when Castiel slides his tongue along the seam of Dean’s lips the next DJ hits the music, base thrumming along the forest floor and shocking up to Dean’s ankles. It’s an onslaught of sensations and Dean’s lips part so he can pant, suddenly unable to take in a full lung of breath as Castiel’s teeth start biting and sucking on his lips. For all that Castiel can’t fucking dance he can fucking _move_ , controlling and guiding their bodies so their hips slot, the bulges in their jeans bumping against each other. The tambourine jangles in time with their movements.

Castiel’s hands move to grip Dean’s ass, palms full of his cheeks which are barely contained by the daisy dukes. His fingers press into the meaty curve, the tips of them dipping to where Dean’s ass meets his thighs, the feeling of skin on skin causing Dean to moan loud and unabashed. They then slide around to the front, skillfully undoing the fastenings of the shorts, and then Castiel’s fingers are wrapping around Dean’s cock, stroking him to hardness. It takes a moment for Dean to catch up but when he does he reaches for Castiel’s pants, undoing his belt and fumbling, pushing his pants and underwear down far enough to pull his cock out. Glancing down between them Dean almost feels embarrassed at how hard and wet he is, but Castiel is in the same state, their foreheads pressing together as they watch the slick slide of their cocks in their fists. 

Angling their hips until their cocks bump, Dean tilts his head to start nipping at Castiel’s lips in a sorry excuse for kisses, tongue sliding out, trying to taste Castiel and breathe him in all at once. Castiel huffs his breath against him, allowing Dean to kittenishly nip and suck at his mouth, returning the motions with slightly more aggressive bites and sucks. Precum dribbles over their hands and after a few moments of jacking, Dean arches his back. 

“Shit, I don’t- fuck, Cas,” Dean breathes.

Castiel pulls away, squeezing the base of Dean’s cock before moving his wet, sticky hand to Dean’s hip. “Turn around.”

Dean complies willingly, turning around to face the tree, hissing when the cool air hits the chafed skin of his back. It’s there that Castiel lays kisses and licks, soothing the tender skin, blowing away bits of bark as he pushes Dean’s shorts down his legs. Dean steps out of one of the leg holes, feeling classy with his shorts pooled around one ankle, but coherent thought leaves his mind when he feels the head of Castiel’s cock bump against his hole.

“Ngh,” Dean braces his hands on the tree, rocking his hips back. “You got a condom?”

“No,” Castiel says, and he sounds fucking _contemplative_ as he rubs his wet dickhead against Dean’s tight, dry pucker. “But we can make this work.” 

Next thing Dean knows Castiel is kicking his feet inwards so his legs are together, and Dean’s eyes roll back in his head when Castiel’s cock slips into the barely existent space in his thighs, head of his erection bumping against Dean’s balls. Getting on board quickly, Dean flexes his thighs, tightening the space around Castiel’s dick, relishing in the low growl that rumbles down his spine as Castiel rains kisses in its path. They fuck but they don’t fuck, and Dean is still getting his world rocked anyway. Tree bark is cutting into his palms as he rocks back against Castiel, and the man graces him with a reach around, jerking his cock in perfect coordination with his thrusts. Dean opens his eyes to see tree bark and glitter cascading through the air down to the forest floor as the tambourine claps rhythmically and he’d laugh if he weren’t too busy moaning, and when Castiel sinks his teeth into the meet of his shoulder Dean whines, high-pitched and embarrassing as he spills over Castiel’s fist. 

Castiel thrusts a few more times before he pulls away, the sensation of his hot cum roping over the small of Dean’s back causing another wave of arousal to pulse through him. Nearly bent in half against a tree, spine dipped, Dean spreads his bowed legs to give them a break, subconsciously presenting himself as he feels Castiel’s cum dripping down his cleft towards his hole. He gives a surprised shout when he feets Castiel’s tongue on his clenching hole, cleaning up the mess he’d left behind, and then Castiel is carefully helping Dean step back into his shorts, drawing them up his legs and gently tucking his soft cock in before fastening them. He helps Dean turn around and pulls him away from the tree, taking his weight in his arms, nose buried in the crook of Dean’s neck. 

“Mmm,” Dean feels a delirious giggle leave him. 

“Are you able to stand?” 

“Kind of a cocky question,” Dean quips, but he shifts to pull away, feeling his entire body both protesting and singing at the sensations coursing through his muscles. He flashes a smile at Castiel, who is watching him with concern, and then leans in to press a kiss to his lips. He can taste his cum on his breath and he can’t help but lick into his mouth, the kiss deepening for a fraction of a moment before he pulls away, humming. “M’good.”

“That you are,” Castiel says, a wry grin on his lips. 

They stare at each other like fucking idiots for about five seconds before the music changes, an aborted siren marking the beginning of a new song. It jolts them out of their reverie and they both let out slightly sheepish laughs, stepping away from one another. Castiel reaches out, though, catching Dean’s fingers loosely in his own. 

“Wanna come back to my tent?” Dean asks, his heart pitter-pattering in his chest. 

“Is Charlie once again going to withhold my phone number from you?” Castiel asks as they turn to start heading out of the grove. 

Dean snorts, leaning in to nuzzle at Castiel’s ear. “She won’t need to if I’ve got you in my bed, will she?”

“Kind of a cocky question,” Castiel replies, pulling his sunglasses off of the top of his head and perching them on his nose despite the fact it’s night time and they’re nowhere near any bright lights.

“Ok, rockstar,” Dean laughs. 

Dean doesn’t do music festivals.

He does, however, start dating the tambourine player that headlines them.

**Author's Note:**

> subscribe to the series [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1279094) to be notified of when i update it!  
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes) where dean's fashion choices are my namesake  
> coachella is a fucking scam, please support local music festivals who, uh, y'know, don't hate gays :-)  
> have a great weekend!


End file.
